


Hurricane

by imparfait



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imparfait/pseuds/imparfait
Summary: All too-big lips and lidded eyes, the devil wearing Target’s finest, not Prada.





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TragicLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TragicLove/gifts).



The air is heavy, electric, and it’s pouring outside. Buckets, cats n’ dogs, whatever. The kind of storm that might rate as apocalyptic anywhere else, but Taylor lives in fucking Oklahoma and he knows better. Anyway, the end times is still to cometh, baby, it’s on it’s way to the back door of the studio right now. All too-big lips and lidded eyes, the devil wearing Target’s finest, not Prada. That piece of shit, that baby dirtbag, his little brother.

He wonders sometimes, especially now, when the humidity bites at his lungs and the rain comes down too hard for him to sneak out and light a smoke, what the fuck he did to deserve this. What wrongs he committed somewhere in his life to make this thing, this evil, amorphous ball of whatever boil in his chest when his brother comes calling. Taylor supposes he knows how to stop it. He could use his words, maybe, like a fucking adult. Maybe that would end it, maybe then he could push through and on--but probably not. _There’s something dark inside that boy_ , he thinks. About Zac. About himself. He doesn’t know. Either way, he’s right.

He’s going crazy. He knows it. His wife is at home, Queen of her castle, looking out over her rain-soaked kingdom and wondering when he is going to stumble in, whiskey-sweet kisses and slurred words. Whatever she thinks he’s up to, he knows, it’s not this. It’s never this. Natalie couldn’t imagine this, not even in her worst nightmares. Not even if she had to voice her darkest fears.

The back door slams open. The rain is hammering the ground outside, maybe it’s hail, maybe a tornado is coming to tear the building apart and take him to Oz--maybe Zac’s the wizard, he thinks, in one last moment of half sanity before the door to the studio slams open and the devil himself stalks in.

Taylor’s half hard before Zac crosses the distance, raindrops trailing after him. Zac grabs him, bites a kiss onto his lips, and shoves Taylor hard down onto the couch. Taylor forgets how to think, his mouth forgets how to form words, and he stares up at Zac.

Zac is all sharp lines and angles, too-bony hips where there used to be softness. Baby fat melted away a long time ago, but this new Zac isn’t Zac grown, he’s Zac remade, pulled up from the ashes of himself like a dark phoenix--

He’s on Taylor again before Taylor can breathe. It’s too much, Zac’s too hungry for it, biting and tugging and pinning him down against the couch. Taylor takes it, takes it because he has to, because he _wants_ to, and that burns him right in the place he thinks his soul should live. It doesn’t, not anymore, not since the first time he let his brother take him to bed.

Zac might be the devil, but Taylor’s no angel.

They kiss like they’re sparring, too much teeth and none of the softness Taylor wants. Zac hurts him, makes it burn, bites the skin on his neck hard enough to make him hiss but not hard enough to leave a mark. Zac isn’t stupid, after all. They have rules.

Zac’s over him, around him; cages him with arms and legs, holds him down on the couch and tilts his hips. He’s hard, probably was when he got in his truck, won’t be for long. He twists his hips down, presses against Taylor, grinds their hips together like the world depends on it, and Taylor hisses out _god_ but God isn’t listening. God hasn’t been listening to him for a long fucking time.

Taylor cries after he comes, cracked open by friction and his brother’s hips, the taste of doctor pepper and listerine in his mouth. Zac slides off him with a grunt. Stands. Fixes his shirt. Slams out the way he came. The back door doesn’t open but the bathroom door slams shut, and Taylor curls himself up on his side, wiping tears off his face. 

He’s destroyed, broken again, and he doesn’t know why he came or why he _came_. He never knows. Doesn’t know why he says yes at all. He’s never been able to stop himself. It doesn’t get easier with time. Distance changes nothing. 

He thinks about Natalie, about the soft way she kisses him and the love in her eyes. She should be enough. She should be all that matters. He shouldn’t be rutting against his brother in the dark, choking back his name as he comes all over the inside of his jeans like a goddamn fifteen year old boy. Maybe they never grew up. Maybe this is the price he has to pay for whatever devil’s bargain got him everything else he wanted in his life.

Zac doesn’t come back.

Taylor waits until he hears the back door wrench open and slam shut before he stands again. He feels grimy. There’s come cooling in his jeans, but it isn’t that. There’s filth all over him, the kind he can’t wash off. A trail of sins down the line of his neck, across his collarbone. He touches his own lips. They’re burning, kiss-bruised and fat.

He doesn’t remember walking to the bathroom, but he strips, shoves his jeans down to his ankles and presses his palms against the sink. He stares into the mirror and says a prayer, like somehow God is going to start listening.

 _Please_ , he thinks.

The rain doesn’t stop. Thunder doesn’t suddenly crash above him. There’s no tornado to take him to Oz.


End file.
